


Confession

by PengyChan



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Inappropriate use of a confessional booth, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: Héctor is having some impure thoughts about his best friend, and decides to use the confessional booth for its intended purpose. Incidentally, Ernesto is currently using that same booth.Not for its intended purpose.[It had all started out innocently. Well, as innocently as it can get when you’re inside a church’s confessional booth with a nun on your lap. Which, come to think of it, was not innocent at all.]





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this one on Tumblr a while ago, figured out I may as well put it up here. You're welcome.
> 
> I entirely blame the Coco Locos Discord server for this thing’s existence.

It had all started out innocently. Well, as innocently as it can get when you’re inside a church’s confessional booth with a nun on your lap. Which, come to think of it, was not innocent at all. 

Ernesto de la Cruz probably needed to rethink his definition of innocence, but he’d do it later. At the moment, he had his hands full. Quite literally.

“Wait, wait. I’ve got it, I-- I can’t see a thing!”

“Quiet, someone could hear! Let me handle this.”

Ernesto leaned back against the side of the confessional booth, breathing in the smell of old wood and incense. It was small and clearly not meant for two, with only enough space for him to sit, and for Sister Sofía to climb on his lap. It was also dark, the only light coming from the tiny holes on one side to hear the confession. Maybe he should slide the panel shut, he mused, but then Sister Sofía was done unbuttoning his shirt and moved on to unbuckling his belt, and that was one hell of a distraction. She did know how to handle it all right.

“... How many men have you screwed in this booth, Sister?”

“This one specifically?”

“How many are there in this church anyway?”

“Four.”

“And did you--”

“Yes.”

“And Padre Edmundo never--”

“No. ”

“Amazing.”

“Thanks. Can you keep your voice down?”

“It would be a sin against God, but I can try,” Ernesto breathed, then her mouth was on his in a bruising kiss. It went straight to his groin, tugged him forward to return it, and he found that the booth was not small enough, after all. There was still too much distance between them… not to mention that damned robe she had on, leaving hardly any skin for him to touch. He groaned in frustration, fumbling to get it out of the way, and felt her chuckling against his skin, a hand running down his chest.

Sister Sofía - who had absolutely no idea that, some twenty years later, she’d be the basis of a movie character - grasped a handful of his hair, forcing his head back. Ernesto let out a hiss when she placed an open-mouthed kiss on his neck and, with her other hand, reached down into his trousers, palming him through the underwear. The hiss turned into a groan, which he stifled when the kiss turned into a bite.

“Quiet,” she said, her voice suddenly harsh, and grasped him tight - painfully so. The sound that left his throat wasn’t too far away from a whine. "Don't make me get the rod."

Ah, _there_ was the nun again. “You’re already holding it,” Ernesto quipped, gaining himself another squeeze - and a chuckle muffled against the side of his neck. Heat was pooling down in his groin, he was growing hard almost embarrassingly quickly, and he grinned. He reached up to get rid of her headdress, ran his fingers through her hair.

“How do we settle this with the Almighty? Can you confess me?”

“Someone hasn’t been paying attention. Only priests can hold confession and absolve from sin.”

“I was distracted.”

“Oh?”

“By the paintings. Clearly.”

“Clearly.”

“I don’t suppose Padre Edmundo would confess us, would he?”

“After a stiff drink, perhaps. He has a fondness for mass wine. He may forget about it.”

“Speaking of _stiff,_ would you mind…?” he muttered, thrusting up into her grip. There was another muffled laugh, and then she ran… no, _scraped_ a fingernail over the underside, causing Ernesto to utter a rather creative curse that gained him another pull at his hair.

“Is that how you talk in the house of God?” Sister Sofía hissed. “Maybe I _should_ get the rod.”

Ernesto held back a laugh, breathing fast when he felt her thumb running slowly over the tip. The heat was almost unbearable now, and keeping himself from thrusting up into her grip was taking all of his willpower. He shuddered. “You would sound so much more convincing if you weren’t-- ah! Mierd-- I mean--”

A bite on his collarbone and another tug at his hair kept him from uttering any more blasphemies, but just barely. _That_ was going to leave a mark for sure, he would need to keep his shirt all buttoned up for a while to hide it. In the heat of summer it would be a nuisance but he found he didn’t care, not with _that_ sort of heat already taking him over. For that, he felt he could face the flames of Hell, and gladly.

“Tell me whatever verse you use to excuse this, and I’ll believe it,” he rasped. His own voice had never sounded so rough to his ears. He slid a hand beneath the rough fabric of her robe, up her leg and then between her thighs. He found her wet and open and ready, and his fingers slipping in got a moan out of her that she muffled against his shoulder, clinging to him as though her life depended on it.

Good. He didn’t mind being led, but if she’d thought he’d leave all control to her, she’d been sorely mistaken. “This,” he whispered against she side of her neck, “would be a good moment to get things going. I promise it won’t hurt”

A breathless scoff, and she pushed his arm away. His fingers came out slick and wet. “Oh, please. I’ve taken bigger.”

“I don’t believe it for a sec--”

“The bellringer.”

“What? You’re joking!”

“Am not.”

“He’s missing a leg!”

“That’s not the appendage we’re discussing here.” A hand pressed against his mouth before he could argue. "Be still," she whispered, and shifted on his lap, pulling up her robe - then she sank on him, and for a moment he could think of nothing. The fingers in his hair let go and she clung to his shoulders with both hands, pressing down, pressing closer.

He was stuck between her and the wood behind his back, her hair was on his face and her mouth on his neck, and he had almost no complaints. Almost. They were close but not close _enough,_ he was deep in her but not deep _enough,_ he needed more of that scent and that heat and that tightness _._ She rocked against him, breathing fast, and his hands clenched on the fabric of her robe, hips shuddering.

There was a bit of a false start, he thrust up just as she pulled away, but then she came down on him - hard - and they found their rhythm. For a time there was nothing but that, gasping and warmth and motion in the dark; he could smell more than just old wood and incense now and it was sweet, sweet, intoxicating.

“Do you still want to hear those verses?” Sister Sofía panted against his shoulder, grinding down on him. Ernesto bit his tongue to stifle a curse, but he let out a breathless chuckle.

“No,” he managed. He got one of his hands between them, beneath her robe, and cupped her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple. “No way in hell I’m apologizing for this.”

A smile against his skin, a tilt of her hips. “Jesus would be saddened.”

“You’re his bride, not me. You sort it out,” Ernesto gasped, and she muffled her laugh against his mouth. A hand ran through his hair, across his shoulder, down his chest.

“I’m starting to suspect you’re not a good Catholic.”

“I have yet to meet one of those,” he muttered, and he was about to add something else, but he never got to: the next moment a sound reached his ears, that of heavy double doors being pushed open, and then footsteps. They immediately stilled, holding their breath, blood still rushing in their ears and pleasure still dulling their senses. Sister Sofía did not move away from his lap - not enough space for her to - but her hand went up to his mouth again.

Still buried deep within her, Ernesto reached to cover it with his own and smiled against her palm… but the smile died down when he realized that the steps were moving closer and closer, until they stopped right in front of the confessional booth.

Ernesto’s eyes flickered towards Sister Sofía to see that she was staring back at him, dark eyes widened in the dim light, just as worried. Then it hit him that the fact he could _see_ her at all was the problem. The small window at the side of the confessional had been left open; the tiny holes wouldn’t allow anyone to look inside, no more than he could glance out from where he sat, but if whoever was there thought that the confessional booth was open--

_Close the panel close the panel close the pa--_

Too late: before Ernesto could manage to detangle his hand from Sister Sofía’s hair, he heard someone kneeling outside, and clearing his throat.

_All right, new plan, I’ll pretend I’m not in. No one is in and he’ll go away. Just keep quiet and--_

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,” a man’s voice rang out, and for a moment Ernesto’s brain came to a complete standstill, his eyebrows raising up almost to his hairline.

Oh. Oooh, that changed _everything._ He wasn’t going to miss _that,_ no señor, no way. It didn’t matter how hushed the voice was, he recognized it right way. It would have been impossible for him not to: he’d heard Héctor mumbling, yelling, whispering, crying, singing and more so many times, since they’d been children. Beneath Sister Sofía’s palm, his lips curled in a gleeful grin; he didn’t even notice her perplexed look when he pulled her hand off his face.

“Bless me, Padre, for I have sinned. It has been… uh… about… it has been a while since my last confession.”

 _A while_ didn’t even begin to cover it, Ernesto suspected. If it turned out he’d confessed himself even just once since before his first Holy Communion he’d pick up the wimple from the floor and eat it. He cleared his throat and spoke in a hushed tone himself, making his voice huskier than usual - not too difficult, really, considering that he was still balls deep into a woman. Who, from her part, was now pressing a hand on her _own_ mouth not to laugh, despite the situation being quite a bit more dangerous for her than it was for him. Ernesto had to admire that.

“And what are your sins, child?” he asked, and held his breath for a moment. He was pretty good at changing his voice, but Héctor had known him for a long time, too - he might just recognize it. Luckily Héctor could be amazingly unobservant, especially when upset… and he did sound kind of upset now, really.

“It’s… difficult to talk about,” he said, his voice trembling, and Ernesto blinked, some worry worming its way through the amusement. Wait, how bad was it? Had he killed someone? Did he need help to hide a body? He had a spade somewhere and there was a grove not far from there where they could--

_“Nnnh--!”_

Ernesto was unable to stifle a groan when Sister Sofía suddenly began tilting her hips again, still on his lap, still _around_ him. He looked at her with wide eyes, and was met with a smirk; she put both hands on his shoulders to push him back against the wall, still tilting her hips slowly.

Oh, she was going to make that difficult, wasn’t she? Very well. He could handle it. Maybe.

“Er… Padre? Is everything all right?” Héctor was asking, and Ernesto held back a grin, brushing back Sister Sofía’s hair.

“Yes, yes,” he rasped, leaning the back of his head against the wall and letting her do what she would. A hand reached again beneath her robe; her skin was slick with sweat just like his own. “Speak freely, child. What is buggin-- troubling you?”

There was a long breath on the other side of the confessional, followed by a mumble. “I have… I have been having impure thoughts, Padre.”

_Have I died and gone to Heaven? Have I? Because a nun riding me while my best friends hands over years’ worth of blackmail material sounds like Heaven to me._

“Impure thoughts?” he repeated. Keeping his voice muffled wasn’t very easy, not with a grin that threatened to split his face in two. Well well, it was about time. How long had he been pining over Miss Attitude, anyway? And all while denying he’d even _thought_ about her that way, like she were Virgin Mary herself or some nonsense.

Of course he’d been having impure thoughts, the pendejo, and he couldn’t blame him. Ernesto had had a few thoughts about Imelda himself, all right, though he wasn’t crazy enough to try anything. There were risks he was willing to take in life, as his current predicament proved, but castration wasn’t one of them.

“Yes,” Héctor’s voice reached him again, almost childishly thin. “Impure thoughts.”

Ernesto caught Sister Sofía’s mouth with his own and exchanged a quick kiss before speaking again. “What sort of impure thoughts?” he rasped, running a hand through her hair.

“I… I’m afraid it’s… I fear it’s offending God.”

Really now? And there Ernesto had thought he was the overly dramatic one. Since when was Héctor _that_ prudish? Ernesto rolled his eyes before speaking, trying to keep his voice steady. Not an easy task. He felt like he could catch fire any moment.

“Well, as long as it’s-- _ah…_ Only in your thoughts, and the young lady is not… er….”

“Vexed,” Sister Sofía whispered in his ear, tilting her hips, and Ernesto nodded, drawing in a deep breath.

“Vexed. Right. As long as it’s in thought--”

“But that’s the thing!” Héctor exclaimed suddenly, words tumbling out of his mouth. “It’s… it’s not about a woman, Padre!”

Wait. Wait. What.

_What._

“... What.”

For a moment, everything stilled - and that included Sister Sofía. She paused, hands still on his shoulders, and tilted her head towards the confessional’s window. On the other side, Héctor was talking fast.

“I… I mean, there is also a girl, and… and I think I’m in love with her, and I could _never_ have those thoughts… well… maybe sometimes, because she is so beautiful, and I know I have no chance with her, but I’d… I would never vex her, Padre, I could never - but that is normal, I suppose? But these thoughts for another man, I know… I know it’s… it is unnatural.”

“Because celibacy isn’t,” Sister Sofía whispered, and Ernesto held back a laugh, surprise starting to give way to something closer to glee. And there he’d thought he knew Héctor like the back of his hand. Full of surprises, wasn’t he? That was mocking fodder that would last him for years to co--

A quick, sharp slap on the cheek reminded him that he was supposed to say something. He cleared his throat. “I see. That’s interesting.”

“... Padre?”

Whoops. “Concerning,” he corrected himself quickly, grinning a little when Sister Sofía  rolled her eyes. “Quite concerning. How long have you been having these… impure thoughts?”

“For months now. It started out… we were just at the stream, and… it was only a thought at first, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and now I don’t know what to do.”

‘Do him’ was a possible suggestion, Ernesto supposed, but not a viable one if he was to keep that charade up. And he did want to keep it up, if anything to find out who the hell it was about. Ernesto tried to imagine who in the world could Héctor be having the hots for but, Imelda aside, he drew a complete blank. He thought of the one-legged bellringer, and had to bite back a laugh.

“I see. Does he know of your, er, desires?”

“Oh God, no!” Héctor was groaning. “I could never tell him, I don’t know what he would think! He’s my best friend, almost a brother! I don’t want him to know I’m a… some sort of deviant! If he were to find out, I… I don’t even know what I would do. What _should_ I do, Padre?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“... Padre?”

“Huh,” Ernesto said. On his lap, Sister Sofía was trembling in what seemed an almost heroic effort not to burst out laughing. He blinked a couple of times, opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again. “Huh,” he repeated.

“I am afraid that if he finds out, he will never look at me the same way again,” Héctor was adding and well, he wasn’t _wrong_ about that. Impure thoughts about Imelda _and_ about him? He had good taste, if anything. How in the world had Ernesto managed to entirely miss it?

“I have prayed, but it doesn’t seem to help,” Héctor was adding, his voice weaker. “I don’t know what else to--”

“Have you considered telling him?” Ernesto asked on a whim, causing Héctor to sputter and Sister Sofía to press her mouth against his shoulder, desperately trying to muffle more laughter. He’d almost forgotten he was still in her, taken as he was by the confession, but the sudden movement made him all too aware, and his hips shuddered. Ernesto drew in a deep breath. He’d thought it was hot inside that booth a few minutes earlier but oh God, now he may as well be in Hell. And he still had no complaints.

“No, I. I can’t tell him,” Héctor was saying, his voice a couple of octaves higher. “I don’t know what he’d think.”

That you have taste, Ernesto wanted to say, but he bit his lower lip instead. Sister Sofía was moving again, grinning against his skin, and he had to hold back a groan. The heat in his groin was back, he wasn’t sure precisely what was causing it now, and he found he didn’t care. He clung back to her, trying to get a hand beneath her robe.

“Well,” he rasped. “These impure thoughts, have you ever… acted on them? When alone?”

More sputtering. “Wha-- no! I never--”

“The truth before God, child,” Ernesto cut him off, and that was a _perfect_ imitation of Padre Edmundo, if he said so himself. If his current predicament had allowed him, he’d have patted himself on the back; instead, he settled for thrusting up into Sister Sofía again, leaning a cheek on her hair. He felt like he was burning up; even the air he breathed seemed to be scorching his throat. “You’re here to confess everything and, er…”

“Free yourself of sin,” Sister Sofía breathed in his ear.

“Free yourself of sin,” Ernesto repeated, and held his breath. After a few, long moments of silence, there was a sigh of defeat.

“I… I have. Once. Or twice,” Héctor mumbled and oh, oh wasn’t that getting better and better. The mental image hit Ernesto like a jolt, went straight to his groin. His breath caught in his throat; if Sister Sofía noticed, if she wondered, she said nothing: she just ground harder against him and Ernesto suddenly realized that he  was very, very close.

“Once or twice?” he repeated, his voice hoarse, and he definitely heard Héctor shifting on the kneeling stool, heard him groaning.

“Several times,” he admitted, just as Sister Sofía tilted her hips sharply and pressed a kiss on the side of his neck. The muscles in Ernesto’s thighs twitched and he clung back to her, his mind conjuring a very pleasant mental image - Héctor resting on his back in his bedroom, his trousers open, a hand sneaking in, Ernesto’s name on his lips.

“These thoughts,” Ernesto breathed. “How… _how_ impure…?”

“Do I have to--”

“It is called _confession_ for a reason. How can I absolve you if-- _nnnh…_ if you don’t tell me all about your sin?”

At that point Ernesto wasn’t even sure his voice sounded like that of a priest at all, but he was already beyond caring; Sister Sofía was getting close, too, he could tell by her quickening breathing and the was she moved, quick and desperate.

“I…” a pause, a long breath. “God help me, one time I imagined him on his knees for me, and… and…”

Héctor’s voice broke, but even if he hadn’t, Ernesto wouldn’t have heard another word. The mental image hit him like a physical blow, and Sister Sofía was clenching around him, and that was it. Ernesto had to bite on his fist to muffle a groan, not knowing what was it that had pushed him over the edge and frankly not giving a damn. He shuddered a few times, his body flushing hot and cold at the same time, blood rushing in his ears and heart thundering in his chest.

Very far away, Héctor was still talking, but he didn’t catch the words. He leaned back against the wall of the confessional booth with a trembling breath, Sister Sofía suddenly limp and still on him, leaning her head against his shoulder and breathing fast against his ear. He could feel the thumping of her heartbeat through the robe. He ran a hand through her hair again, and felt her smirk against his neck. Ernesto grinned back - not that she could see it, but it was the thought that counted - and made an effort to turn his attention back to Héctor.

“So I need some… some advice. And prayer, of course, I _am_ going to pray, but--”

“This friend of yours, is he handsome?”

“... What?”

“Well, is he?”

“Uh… I guess that… women do think he is…”

“But do you?”

“Er. Sí?”

Ernesto took a mental note of that, for next time Héctor tried to react to his teasing over his ears and nose by uttering some nonsense about his chin scaring small children. Hadn’t he been lost in the afterglow, he would have realized that his voice didn’t sound much like that of a priest anymore and he would have _definitely_ picked up the sudden doubt in Héctor’s voice. But his mind was still dazed, so he didn’t notice.

That, or his brain had decided that he just didn’t _care_ to keep the act going anymore.

“Well, if he’s that handsome, I am sure God would understand.”

“... Would he now.”

“He did tell us to love the… the…”

“The neighbour?”

“Yes. That.”

“I am not entirely sure he meant _that_ kind of love.”

“Which one of us is the priest again?”

“I see. Well, _Padre,_ thank you for the enlightening words. Come to think of it, I probably need not worry. It would be worse if I’d been having such thoughts about a _real_ man.”

_Wait, what?_

“Wait, what?” Ernesto repeated, incredulous. Sister Sofía trembled in his arms - a quiet snicker, most likely - but he was beyond noticing. “What do you mean by that?”

“I have seen his… well, we grew up together, you understand. Just last week we went to the stream to freshen up. I didn’t intentionally look, but it couldn't be helped. It was… nothing to write home about.”

“Wait a minute there--”

“Actually, you almost couldn’t see it. Almost like looking at a woman. Maybe that’s why--”

 _“That’s not true!”_ Ernesto all but screeched, causing Sister Sofía to recoil and pull back, raising both eyebrows at him.

_Really?_

… Ah. Whoops.

As realization hit him, he heard Héctor standing suddenly and crying out in triumph. “Ah-ha! So it was you all alo-- oh. Oh my _God,_ it was _you_ all along!”

“Er…”

_“What the hell, Ernesto?”_

“I, uh--”

There was a groan, a few footsteps as Héctor walked around the confessional booth. “What in the world are you _doing_ in there?”

“No, wait--” Ernesto tried, but it was too late. The door was thrown open and Héctor was glaring at him, his face beet red. Not that he kept glaring for long: within a moment, just as Sister Sofía pressed her face against his shoulder and lost her long battle not to laugh, his expression turned perplexed at first, then completely blank. His eyes shifted from the laughing nun on his lap to Ernesto, who tried to smile, still sweaty and dishevelled.

“This is not what it looks like,” he declared.

Héctor blinked at him and slowly, wordlessly, closed the door again. There were quick footsteps as he walked out of the church, but Ernesto failed to hear them over Sister Sofía’s laughter. He groaned and leaned back against the wall, wiping some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”

More laughter, a smile against sweaty skin. “Oh, no. Never.”

* * *

“Well, we did learn some interesting things about each other today.”

“Chingate, Ernesto.”

“You sure you wouldn’t like to do that yourself?”

_“Ernesto.”_

“Just asking!”

Silence.

“... She’s not going to tell, is she?”

“Naah, she’s good. Plus, she wouldn’t want to explain what we were doing in that booth.”

“Oh. Good.”

Silence, again.

“You said I’m handsome.”

“I _also_ said you have a small dick.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“I’ve seen bigger.”

“That’s the second time I hear it today. And _whose_ would that be?”

“Mine.”

“Hah, dream on. Mine is thicker and women like it  thick. Unlike you, _I_ would know.”

“That was a low blow.”

“In every sense of the word.”

More silence.

“... But if you want to settle the matter--”

“No.”

“Afraid of comparison now?”

“Just do us both a favor and keep it in your trousers for two hours straight.”

“Heh.”

“What now?”

“You said ‘straight’.”

“Idiota.”

Another pause as they both gulped down a shot of mezcal.

“So, about those impure thoughts--”

“Can you shut your mouth?”

“Would you prefer to shut me up? Because you did mention a fun way to do it.”

“For the love of-- we _can’t,_ all right?”

“Says the Bible?”

“Says everyone.”

“Well, not me.”

“I caught you fucking a nun inside a church.”

“Your point?”

“You’re not a good role model.”

“Probably not. But I’m a great lover.”

“Says who?”

“You very shortly, if you dare. You can confess yourself later. Possibly to a real priest.”

He did dare. He did, begrudgingly, concede that Ernesto knew what he was doing. But he never attempted to confess himself again. Actually, he never came within a ten foot radius of a confessional booth ever again.

Just in case.


End file.
